


Going Home

by Angstqueen



Category: Dead Zone
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:10:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angstqueen/pseuds/Angstqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce gets a message from his mom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Home

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in Ouch #17 under the pen name Leesa Warren.
> 
> This is a prelude to the 2nd season episode "Zion" where Bruce and Johnny go to Indianapolis for Bruce's father's funeral.

 

         Deputy Roscoe Wilson looked up as his boss walked into the office.  As Sheriff Walt Bannerman approached, Roscoe held out a piece of paper.

         "What's this?" Bannerman asked, glancing at his deputy's scrawled message.  "Do I know Rosa Lewis?"

         The other man shrugged.  "How should I know?  She just said it was important for you to call as soon as possible."

         "Thanks."  Slightly exasperated, Walt headed into his office and shut the door.  As he walked over to his desk chair and sat down, he studied the note again.

         The area code wasn't familiar.  Pulling out the telephone book, he searched for several minutes before finding his answer.  Indianapolis?  The only person he knew by the last name of Lewis was Bruce Lewis, physical therapist and best friend to John Smith.  And Bruce lived here in Cleaves Mills.

         Picking up the phone, he dialed the number, waiting impatiently for someone on the other end to answer.

         On the third ring, a woman's voice answered, "Lewis residence."

         "Yes, may I please speak to Rosa Lewis?" Walt asked her.  "I'm Sheriff Walt Bannerman, calling from Cleaves Mills, in Maine."

         "I'm Rosa Lewis, thank you for returning my call."

         Walt frowned.  The voice wasn't familiar to him.  At a guess, he figured she was an older woman, possibly African-American.  There was a formal tone to her voice that didn't erase the strain he could hear.

         "It's not a problem.  How can I help you, ma'am?" he politely inquired.

         "I believe you know my son, Bruce Lewis?"

         _Lewis!_   This was Bruce's mom?  Still puzzled, the sheriff replied, "Yes, I know him.  He's a good friend of mine."

         "That's comforting to hear, especially at a time like this."  Rosa paused, and Walt could hear her sniffling in the background.  "I would appreciate if you could please get a message to him, Sheriff.  I tried calling his apartment and also his cell phone, but got no answer at either.  This is a matter of some urgency."

         Walt could feel his heart rate soar.  Calls like this were never good news.

         "Of course.  What's the message?"  Grabbing his pen and pulling a notepad close, Walt waited for her answer.

         "His father was hospitalized this morning with a massive heart attack."  Again, Mrs. Lewis had to stop, and the sheriff heard a soft sob.

         "I'm very sorry to hear that, Mrs. Lewis."  Just once, Walt would not have minded being proved wrong.

         "Thank you, Sheriff.  Will you please ask Bruce to come home?  He's needed here."  Mrs. Lewis once more had her emotions under control.

         "I'll get the message to him right away, ma'am.  And I'll hope for the best for your husband."

         "God doesn't always pay attention to what we feel is best, Sheriff Bannerman, but thank you for your concern.  Goodbye."

         Shaking his head, Walt hung up the phone.  Standing, he grabbed his jacket and walked out of his office.  Stopping by Roscoe's desk, he said, "I'm heading over to Johnny's, and then we're going to go see Bruce.  I'll be on the radio if you need me, but this is urgent."

         "Is everything okay, Boss?" the deputy wondered, frowning.

         "No.  No, it's not.  Bruce's father had a bad heart attack this morning."  Not giving Roscoe time for further questions, Walt hurried out to his car.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Walt called John as soon as he pulled out of the parking lot.  _Please let him be home!_ he silently prayed as the phone continued to ring.

         Finally, on the fourth ring, Johnny picked up.  "Hi, Walt."

         Now somewhat used to the blond's psychic caller ID, Bannerman said, "I'm on my way over to pick you up.  I just got a phone call from Bruce's mom.  His dad had a heart attack this morning and I guess it's pretty serious.  She asked me to notify him."

         "Damn," John sighed.

         "Yeah."

         Johnny didn't know anything about Bruce's parents.  Come to think of it, the younger man avoided mentioning his family at all.  But no matter what, they were his flesh and blood.  "Do you want me to tell him?" Smith offered.

         "You wouldn't mind?"  Walt tried not to sound too eager.  Notifying next of kin was possibly the worst of his duties.

         "Might be easier for him to hear it from me, I'll meet you out in front."

         "Thanks, John.  See you in a few."  Ending the call, the sheriff tried not to dwell on the task ahead.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         "Okay, Helen… give me ten more sets and then we'll move on to your favorite."  Bruce grinned, waiting for his patient's response.  He wasn't disappointed.

         "The bike…"  The redhead sighed, nodding in resignation.  She hated it, but she knew it was definitely helping to strengthen the muscles supporting her knee.

         "Think you can give me twenty minutes today?" the physical therapist asked her.

         After considering a moment, Helen nodded and said, "I'll give it a try.  If it's too bad–"

         "We'll stop."  Bruce nodded in agreement.  He had long ago discovered that he had much better success with his clients if he could get them to take responsibility for their progress.

         The buzzer on the front door chimed, and Bruce turned to make sure the receptionist was at her desk.  Turning back, he did a double-take as he saw who had walked in.

         "I'll be right back," he promised Helen.  "Take a break when you're done, okay?"

         Walt and John nodded as he approached them.  Their expressions were as serious as he'd ever seen.  He frowned.  "This can't be good, both of you here looking like doom.  What's up, guys?"

         "Bruce, is there somewhere private we can talk?" Walt asked him.

         "What the–?"  With a frown, the therapist motioned to a doorway in the back of the workout area.  "Yeah, my office."

         He led them inside, his frown deepening when John shut the door behind them.

         "Okay, someone want to tell me what's going on here?"

         Walt and John exchanged glances, and the psychic opened his mouth to speak, but the sheriff beat him to it.

         "Bruce, I asked John to come with me because I had a call from your mother this morning," Walt explained.

         "M-my mother?"  The sudden roaring in his ears was making it difficult for Bruce to hear.  He shook his head, trying to clear it.  "Why'd she call _you?_ "

         John stepped forward, reaching out to lightly grasp Bruce's arm.  "Your father had a heart attack this morning, Bruce.  She needs you to come home."

         "Shit."  The younger man rubbed his hands over his face.  This was definitely _not_ what he had expected to hear.  If John said anything further, the physical therapist didn't hear it over the continued roar in his ears.

         "Hey, Bruce… you okay?"

         He couldn't say who had spoken, but he knew that two pairs of hands were supporting him, guiding him to a nearby chair.  He sank into it, sucking in a deep breath.  His father…

_Should've known the old man would find a way to get me to come home._

         "Bruce?  C'mon, you with us, man?"

         This time the voice, and the concern, penetrated, and the physical therapist forced himself to concentrate on it.  Blinking several times, he looked up and met John's troubled gaze.

         Seeing the psychic's worry nearly undid Bruce and he looked away.  Clearing his throat, he said, "Yeah.  I'm good.  I'm fine."

         Johnny didn't buy it, but he didn't push further, either.  He remembered his own reaction when Reverend Purdy had broken the news of his mother's death.  The shock and grief had almost been crippling.  Even though she had been dead for years when he'd learned about it, to him the event might as well have just happened.

         "Bruce, you should call the airport and book a flight home."  Walt's voice was soft with compassion.  "Tell them it's a family emergency.  If they give you any trouble, have them call me for verification."

         Bruce nodded slightly in acknowledgment.  "Thanks, Walt."  Damn, his voice sounded rusty, even to his own ears.  No wonder John had looked at him like that.

         A cell phone chirped, and both John and Walt pulled their units out to check.

         "Mine."  Walt held his up.  Moving away a few steps, he took the call.

         Holding out his hand to his friend, John said, "Give me your keys, Bruce."

         The other man blinked, looking puzzled.  "For what?"

        "I don't think it's a good idea for you to be driving right now, and you need to stop by your apartment and pack a few things."  Wiggling his fingers, the psychic persisted.  "C'mon, I'll take you."

         That cut through Bruce's fog of uncertainty and he stood abruptly.

         "Thanks, John, I appreciate what you're tryin' to do but I'm fine.  _Really_."

         Finished with his call, Walt rejoined them.  He frowned at the anger he could hear in Bruce's voice.  He'd known the younger man for a few years now and had not expected this reaction to the news.

         Then again, he couldn't say if Bruce had ever had to deal with this type of situation before.  Everyone dealt differently with family emergencies.

         Johnny shook his head.  "I'm not buying it, Bruce."

        "And I'm not asking you to," the other man snapped.  "Look, not that it's any of your business, but my dad and I aren't what you would call close, okay?  Thanks for telling me.  I've got work to do here."

         For the first time in their friendship, John felt out of his depth.  He had never encountered this level of resistance from Bruce.

         Walt scrubbed his hand over his face, sharing Johnny's frustration.  Unfortunately, duty called.

         "I hate to do this, but I've got to go."  Reaching out, he lightly clasped Bruce's shoulder.  "Bruce, I'm really sorry about your dad, and if there's anything I can do to help, give me a call, okay?"

         The younger man nodded.

         The sheriff turned to John.  "You coming with me?"

         "No."  Carefully not looking at his friend, Johnny shook his head.  "I'll catch a ride with Bruce."

         "Okay, I'll see you around then.  Take it easy, guys."  With a wave, Walt turned and walked out.

         After the other man had left, Bruce turned to Johnny.  "You're not going to let this alone, are you?"

         "No."

         There was a bedrock certainty to John's stance that Bruce knew he didn't have the heart to fight.  Still he had to try.

         "John, I can take care of myself," he argued.  "Why won't you believe that?"

         "I know you can.  But you shouldn't be on your own right now."  Johnny held up a hand, waving off Bruce's automatic protest.  "I heard what you said, and I know you believe it.  But I've been there, remember?  Even if you weren't close with your father, there's still your mother to consider.  She needs you, Bruce."

         That brought the man up short.  His parents had been college sweethearts, their lives so entwined that they had never spent a night apart except for his birth.  His mother did need him now, more than she probably ever had.

         "Fine, you win," he growled, handing over his car keys.  "Let's go."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Bruce could tell by the determined look on his friend's face that Johnny had every intention of accompanying him inside.  The realization irritated him and in the same instant he wondered at the source of irritation.

         As he let them in the front door, a possible reason occurred.  He had left home at twenty and had been living on his own, supporting and taking care of himself, since then.  And now, as a physical therapist, he made his living helping other people.  It just felt wrong to let someone else take care of him.

         Yet this was Johnny Smith, the closest friend he'd ever had.  Not just any man, either, a psychic.

         Tossing the keys on the coffee table, Bruce turned and watched as Johnny shut the apartment door.  A shiver chased down his spine and he wondered if the other man had an ulterior motive for being here.  Like maybe he'd seen something relating to his parents?

         "John, have you–?  Did you see anything when you touched me earlier?"

         The question clearly surprised the blond and he shook his head.  "No.  You know I don't always get a vision off you, Bruce.  And I would have told you if I had."

         At least Johnny thought he would have.  He could think of a couple scenarios where sharing might not be in Bruce's immediate best interests.

         "Guess I'd better throw a couple things together and get to the airport."  With a sigh, the physical therapist headed for the bedroom.

         Johnny followed him, stopping to lean against the frame and watching as Bruce pulled a large duffel bag from the bottom of a closet.  He took a few steps forward.

         "Why don't you go call your mom?  Tell her you got the message and that you're on the way.  I'll throw a few things in the bag for you."  He grinned.  "If you trust me, that is."

         Bruce wanted to protest, but he realized Johnny was also giving him an offer of privacy.  The apartment was small and there were few places to hold a private conversation with company present.

         "I trust you, John.  You know that."  Pointing out the relevant dresser drawers, the physical therapist then walked out to the living room, closing the bedroom door behind him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         John could hear Bruce talking, although he couldn't catch the words.  His gut had knots in it, thinking about what Bruce's mother must be going through.  Hell, what Bruce himself had to be feeling, no matter what the state of his relationship with his father happened to be.

         Although the younger man never spoke about his family, or his childhood, Johnny had the impression that Bruce had been raised with love and discipline.  The psychic had often wondered at his friend's reticence, but had resolved not to push for details.  Bruce seemed, on the surface, to be carefree and light-hearted, but Johnny had seen just enough to know that wasn't the whole picture.  Bruce kept a lot to himself.

         Reaching for the closet door to see what clothing it held, the psychic gasped as he found himself sucked into a vision…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         _Bruce opened the door of a large old Victorian style home and stepped inside._

_"Mama?" he called out, setting down his bag and looking into the front room._

_A short, stout black woman came down a hallway, apparently from the kitchen.  She wiped her hands on a flowered apron tied over a plain black dress._

_"Bruce–"  Words failed her, and she held out her arms to her son._

_"I'm here now, Mama," he soothed, enfolding her in a close embrace.  "I'm here."_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Taking a step back, John sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slow.  He repeated the process several times until he felt steadier.

         Checking his watch, he saw the time was only just past 10:30 a.m.  Pulling out his cell phone, he hit the speed dial number for Reverend Purdy.  The receptionist connected him immediately, and John was relieved to find the older man available to talk.

         "Gene, I need a favor.  Actually it's not for me, it's for Bruce."  Johnny quickly explained the situation.  "Can you get me two tickets on the next flight out to Indianapolis?"

         "I have an even better idea," the preacher responded.  "I'll arrange for a chartered jet.  And I'll send the limo to your place to pick you both up.  Would one hour be sufficient?"

        Normally Johnny would have argued about the use of the jet, but his senses were telling him time was of the essence here.

         "Thanks, Gene.  I really appreciate this."

        "Not a problem.  I'm glad to be able to help, Johnny.  Please, give my regards to Bruce, and tell him that I'll be praying for his father."

         John ended the call, reflecting that, for once, Purdy had actually sounded sincere in his concern.

         He quickly finished packing what items he felt Bruce would need.  A further search of the other man's closet yielded a garment bag and two neatly pressed suits hanging in the back.  Picking the closest one, he then selected a matching shirt and tie, and packed them as well.  He'd leave the shoes to Bruce.

         As if summoned by the thought, the younger man opened the door and walked in.  His eyes were bloodshot and his expression strained.

         "Bruce?"  The psychic took a step forward, automatically reaching out to his friend.  "You okay?"

         The other man took a step back, raising his hands in deflection.  "Don't–  I don't think touching me is a good idea right now, John."  He shook his head.

         "What's going on?  What did your mother say?"

         "My dad–"  Bruce had to stop to clear his throat.  "He, uh, had another heart attack about an hour ago.  They're not sure he's going to make it."

         "Damn, Bruce.  I'm so sorry."  As much as Johnny wanted to offer physical comfort to his friend, he knew Bruce had a point.  Although touching the younger man seldom triggered any kind of serious vision, this wasn't a typical situation.

         "Thanks."  Noticing his packed luggage, the younger man asked, "Any luck on getting me a flight?"

         Mentally crossing his fingers, Johnny nodded.  "I called Gene.  He's got a charter jet standing by for us.  The limo is going to meet us at the house."

         Bruce blinked several times as he processed his friend's words.  Us.  Johnny intended to come with him.  For a moment he considered arguing, but he didn't have the heart for it.  He knew the next few days were going to be difficult and John was his best friend.  Still, there was one consideration…

         "Don't get me wrong, man, but are you _sure_ you want to put yourself through that?  There's going to be a lot of people there with strong emotions," Bruce reminded the psychic.  "You're not going to be able to avoid them all."

"I know… but I'll handle it, Bruce," he assured his friend.  "As long as you're okay with me being there."

         "To be honest, I'm glad you're coming along."  The black man managed a weak smile.  "Besides, I've been wanting to show you where I grew up.  Looks like I'll get a chance after all."

         Johnny returned the smile and without hesitation closed the distance between them to give his friend a brief, tight hug.  He knew he had made the right move when the younger man relaxed, returning the quick embrace.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

         Bruce took a quick look at the items already packed, added a few more and within fifteen minutes they were on the road to the Smith mansion.

         This time Johnny didn't protest when Bruce stated he was driving.  The journey passed in silence, but it was the comfortable quiet of friends.

         Bruce pulled the Cruiser up to the gate, entering his access code.  Once the gate opened, he slowly drove up and parked off to the side, allowing space for the limo.

         "I'll just be a few minutes," John said as they got out of the car.  "Would you mind making sure the rest of the house is locked up?"

         "You bet."  Bruce followed him into the house.  He methodically checked the windows and doors, knowing his friend had a fondness for fresh air and a lack of appreciation for security.

         As he went from room to room, Bruce reflected that that wasn't quite fair.  Johnny knew full well the importance of security, he simply chose to rebel against it whenever and wherever possible.

         Bruce had just finished securing the back door and testing the security system when he glanced at the monitors and saw the limo pulling up to the gate.  When the buzzer rang, he hit the button to release the lock.

         "Come on up to the house," he instructed.  "We'll be out in a few minutes."

         "Yes, sir," came the tinny reply and, moments later, Bruce could hear the car out front.

         "Yo, John!  Our ride's here!" he called out, heading to the front door.

         Grimacing and wiggling a finger in his ear, John scowled at his friend from the bottom step.  "You trying to make me deaf?"

         "Sorry.  Didn't know you were downstairs already."  Bruce shrugged, grinning.

         John waved at the door, indicating that Bruce should precede him.  Following the younger man, he paused long enough to activate the alarm system.

         Bruce reached out and relieved Johnny of his luggage, trotting down to the limo where the driver waited by the open trunk.  Once stowed, the therapist headed for his Cruiser and retrieved his own bags.

         A few minutes later they were settled in the back seat and the driver was headed for the gate, pausing for Johnny to close and lock it behind him.

         "I'd better call Walt," John realized, pulling out his cell phone and dialing the sheriff's number.  He updated the other man on events and promised to call when they had more news.

         Returning the phone to his jacket pocket, the blond looked over at his friend.  Bruce met his gaze briefly, summoning a smile which was a shadow of his usual wide grin.

         Seeing his friend's strained expression, Johnny was glad he had insisted on joining Bruce for the trip to Indiana.  The physical therapist had stood by his side, steadfast and sure, through all the ups and downs that had come his way since waking from the coma.  Now, perhaps, was his chance to return some of that support.

         Johnny just hoped Bruce got to see his father, talk with him even, and mend whatever fences had been broken when Bruce had left home all those years ago.  He knew his friend well enough to guess that the estrangement bothered the younger man more than he would ever let on.

         The thought that it might be permanent bothered the psychic.  He hated the thought of his friend carrying that load for the rest of his life.

         But if he did, Johnny vowed to be sure Bruce knew it wasn't one he had to carry alone.

 

 

~ fin ~


End file.
